


Mundane Like Me

by spittingfeathers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Body Swap, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Magic, Masturbation, NSFW, Smut, Stansa hell, accidental magic, not a massive amount of plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: They said she was like a black hole in a room full of shining stars. That was the nicest description she’d ever heard for a Mundane.





	1. The Book

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats to the Stansa Ship for reaching 200 fics on the AO3 Tag!

The book was lovingly worn, handwritten by Tully’s from all generations. Soft pencil sketches in the margins and diagrams neatly drawn. Tips were added by many different hands as instructions were altered over the years.

_Use the flat of the blade._

_Add two sprigs of Lavender to stabilise._

_Wear a white robe and perform only on the night of a full moon._

It was the history of her family that had never been hers until the death of her mother. The book should have gone to Arya, but her sister had dismissed the spells as silly and told Sansa to keep it before she’d left home in search of adventure. 

Arya had a much more active gift, and it’s rarity allowed her the chance to do anything and go anywhere.

“So much for cheering yourself up,” Sansa grumbled to herself.

Flicking through potions for luck, charms for a cold and began gently smoothing her fingers over the pages as though she could take some of their power and knowledge for herself. 

She’d seen her siblings perform amazing feats when they were younger, her parent's eager eyes as proud as when they had taken their first steps. Talents with beasts, the Earth, the elements, and even that of Sight. They had it all, and yet she, probably the one they hoped who would have the most spectacular talent of all…was ordinary. Without a spark at her fingertips or a voice in her head, Sansa was gift-less. Mundane. 

Initially, her parents wouldn’t hear of it, but the proof was all around them.

Potions turned foul at her fingertips and neither needle or thread moved to sew when she wanted a new dress. Rooms stayed dusty. She was deaf to the beasts and call of the earth. No element would respond to her call. The future remained a mystery and no matter how many times she tried or wished it so, magic remained firmly out of reach.

Sansa was the ‘Mundane Jane’ of the family but…no not even that! Just _mundane_ because her childhood friend Jane did have magic and it had eventually driven them apart. 

It wasn’t solely due to jealousy. Sansa had been incredibly jealous at first. So jealous that she’d wear a pinched look for days whenever one of her siblings showed off in front of her or gloated about their powers. Her smile becoming tight and fixed whenever she spoke to or heard of someone who had the connection she lacked. It wasn’t until later when she realised that it wasn’t going to get any better or have a sudden surge of magic through her veins, that she accepted it. 

Magic was just a part of many _so completely_ that they used it for everything and were therefore ever conscious about her lack of it. Some could even sense it. They said she was like a black hole in a room full of shining stars. That was the nicest description she’d ever heard for a _Mundane_.

“You just don’t…buzz like the rest of us.” They’d say, giving her a shrug and pitying smile. Some shuddered at the sight of her, the thought of not having magic completely abhorrent to them.

Eventually, the friendships between Sansa and other magic users, much like her siblings, dwindled when they could no longer discuss their primary passions - magic. Sansa had tried to ask them, to help them get over the barriers she had put there, but it had been too much for most and after that, they left, and Sansa let them go. 

Sansa had made some new friends, mostly Mundanes, but a few other Magic users who were a bit more open-minded. Eventually, Sansa decided that if she couldn’t perform magic, she could study it instead…and she loved it. Every crinkled page, every silver inlay on an ancient wooden box that no one had been able to open in forever. It was a thrilling challenge, sometimes made easier by the fact that she didn’t have magic at all and so was forced to use other means to discover the secrets of the items that were shrouded in mystery. 

Of course, being a scholar wasn’t as romantic as many made it sound, but studying ancient curses and the actions of warring wizards often made the job worthwhile. She’d even been allowed on a dig in the desert a few years ago to retrieve and translate some ancient texts. The most useful spells and potions she’d added to the Tully book herself, even if she could never cast them personally. The book would go to whichever niece or nephew had a talent for it. Whenever her siblings decided to have children.

Sansa was looking forward to being an Aunt if her siblings ever settled down. Though she hadn’t really given up on having children herself, there were few who wanted something more with a Mundie like her. 

Magic was power, and power was very desirable. 

Sansa curled up on the sofa and poured herself another glass of wine. All she needed now was a dozen cats and she’d be set for spinsterhood. It wasn’t difficult getting dates. It was difficult keeping them after they’d progressed enough for Sansa to let them in on her Mundane secret. They would approach her in bars and clubs or in her favourite cafe, thinking her talent was beauty or that she was modest about her skills, because surely a daughter of Lord Eddard Stark would be ever-so-powerful. Most didn’t stick around long after that, and those who did…well. They eventually went away too.

The only constant in her life was her work, which she was good at — no one could deny it. Sansa found the more time she spent researching and looking at old warded castles and cursed amulets she was able to feel out their purpose much quicker. It was practice, she told herself, that and seeing her other Magicals struggle to do something in an hour that she could figure out in half the time just made her try harder. Though it might help in some cases, you didn’t need magic for everything.

Drinking and reading through a spell book wasn’t honestly advisable, especially when feeling particularly lonely.

“A spell for connection between friends and family…” Sansa read aloud, looking through the diagrams and drawn little hearts. “To let your loved ones know you’re thinking of them and you in turn.” 

Written beneath the title and purpose of the spell were instructions.

_Stand and clear your mind. Recite the spell clearly. You should feel a warmth about your person when you know the spell has taken effect. The incantation is written on the next page._

Sansa thought of Arya travelling the Free Cities offering solace and revenge to spirits, Robb who was busy working in construction of new towers in the Riverlands, Jon in the North who was helping shore up the Wall and Bran and Rickon who were in a Northern Boarding school to help them hone their talents in Sight and Beast Speech. She hadn’t had a call in a while from any of them. 

If only she could actually perform the spell, then she’d know.

Sansa flipped the unusually thick page over and muttered the words under her breath. Not too hard at all. 

_Depending on the strength of the spell it should last between three hours and three days._

“Or it won’t work at all if you’re a Mundie like me” Sansa groused, downing the rest of her wine. 

Gods she was talking to herself now. 

In a split second decision, Sansa stood up (swaying), holding the book in one hand and her empty glass in the other and read the spell aloud. 

Sansa waited…and waited…and when nothing but a shiver shot down her spine she scoffed at herself. 

“Of course nothing was going to happen, stupid girl.”

Sansa tossed the book onto the side table where it promptly slid off the other side and onto the floor. She left it there, not wanting to look at the silly thing anymore, and decided she should go to bed and get this horrible day over with.

Halfway up the stairs, her vision started to blur around the edges. “Bloody hell that wine is strong!” She swore, blinking hard. 

Sansa gripped the bannister and forced herself up to her room, collapsing on her bed with a groan. Glad that it was the weekend and she didn’t have to be at work the next morning, Sansa fell into a deep and restful sleep.


	2. Morning Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wakes up

_Light. Too much light._

Sansa groaned and put her arm over her forehead to block out the sun streaming through the window. Had she not closed the curtains last night? 

Half blind from blurry eyes and a killer hangover, Sansa swung her arm out in the direction of her bedside table to feel around for her phone. What was the time? It felt far too early to be up.

Damn it. She must have left her phone downstairs. Instead of the smooth screen, her fingers brushed a packet, which, when she forced her eyes open wider to focus on it, was revealed to be Ibuprofen. 

_Did I get up in the night? Bless, drunk me._ She thought, popping two pills from the packet and swallowing them without water like the badass she was. Sansa groaned. _Gods, I feel rough._  

While she didn’t have any hangover potions, it was the weekend, so Sansa was free to laze about the house and feel as awful as she liked. Whatever the time was, she’d get some more sleep and then take a shower, after which her hangover would be gone. Hopefully.

Burrowing deeper into her bed Sansa pulled the covers up over her head and drifted off back to sleep.

*****

The next time Sansa woke, it was, miraculously without a headache. However, while her headache was gone, another problem had _risen_. A rather sizeable problem. Waking up in a pleasant sleepy haze and feeling a bit horny was normal. Moving her hand between her legs to sort herself out and finding something ‘extra’ there was not. 

_“_ What the fuck is that?” she mouthed. 

Between her long, toned, and very hairy legs, was a penis. A very _erect_ penis that was currently, silently, demanding her attention. Not that she could take her eyes off it really. 

“Went to sleep with a vagina, wake up with a penis,” Sansa whispered. “Totally normal. Of course. It’s fine.” Sansa pinched her _rather muscular_ arm and winced. She was not dreaming. But she was freaking out. Just a tad. She looked at the penis.

Sansa flicked it. 

“Fuck! That hurt!” 

_Ok. Don’t flick the penis. Bad idea._

_No wonder guys yelp when you accidentally hit them there…it’s really sensitive._

**_Also_ ** _— that was a little deep, even for me._

“I have a penis,” Sansa stated. There was something about that voice. She frowned and cleared her throat. “It’s certainly not mine and nor is this voice. Oh bloody—“

Sansa froze. Her voice. She _knew_ that voice and…looking up she realised something else too. This wasn’t her room. It wasn’t even her fucking _house_. 

There were no pictures on the walls, no phone on the bedside table, nothing that would make her certain that this house belonged to whom she thought it did but…bathroom. Bathrooms had mirrors and she needed to check. There had to be one around here somewhere. On the other hand, perhaps a cold shower would wake her up and make her realise that it was all some sort of daydream — or nightmare _._

That wasn’t to say she was ready to have a mental breakdown. 

Her line of work, research and recovery of magical artefacts, had put her in all sorts of strange situations. She’d been cursed, hexed, jinxed and befuddled by the various enchantments on the objects she looked over. The sleeping spell had probably been the most dangerous - triggered by a word that when spoken would knock her out for an hour at least. She and her colleagues had debated the uses but all Sansa could think about was the danger of it. They had to get a warlock in to break the spell and Sansa was right as rain after that. 

Then there was the day she’d spent as a blue bird flapping about her office and trying to get someone to understand that she needed _help_. Oh, and the time she’d been ‘accidentally’ dosed with truth serum. That had been a nightmare — blurting out _every_ thought you had about the person you were talking to without being able to stop yourself was awful. She would have rated it a solid ten on the scale of ‘one = ok’ to ‘ten = kill me now’. 

Therefore, waking up with a penis was not so notable as one might imagine.

_I’d give it a four for the surprise. Good effort. Could have done better._

Throwing back the covers Sansa practically jumped out of bed, and with far more strength than she’d anticipated, stumbled into the plain looking dresser. 

Gods, she was _tall_ and this was _strange as hell_. 

Once she’d got her balance, feet spread a little to help her stay upright and not squash the _thing_ between her legs, she snagged the dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door (who knew if anyone else was in the house and went in search of a bathroom - and mirror) and took stock of the new, strange body that now belonged to her. 

_At least until I get this figured out. Then I can figure out how to get back to_ **_my_ ** _body and sort this mess out._

Her legs were long, toned and hairy. Her large feet, each with the normal amount of digits, allowed her to keep a little bit of balance as she walked, swaying or stumbling occasionally. 

Of course, there was no escaping _it_ when you looked down. The sensation of having something extra ‘there’ was something she’d never get used to - nor did she want to. The penis, slightly larger than average, was still _there_.

It was strange how the balance of each person was different, that and he had a completely different distribution of weight. Sansa’s were mainly in her chest and hips and thighs, but he was…well. Everywhere. There was not an ounce of fat on him, all muscle and lean limbs. It was, she thought, a body she wouldn’t mind getting to know better - if she wasn’t the one driving it. She looked at her hands. They were callused, fairly big, and had a few little scars ran along the palms and fingers.

She needed to find a mirror to be sure, but Sansa was sure she already knew whose body she’d…borrowed. That was better. Borrowed. With the intent to _give back._ Sansa opened the bedroom door and winced as it slammed against the wall. Shit. There was a hole…no, just a small dent…easily missed she was sure. Clearly, she was strong. _Far_ stronger than she’d been when she went to sleep. 

Sansa gingerly stepped out into the hall with slightly bent legs, looking as though she was about to shit herself. Or had stepped in shit and didn’t want to get it all over the carpet. 

_How did guys walk with it dangling there like that?_

She was glad that no one was around to witness her strange walk as she checked various doors that lined the hall. No one, not even a pet, rushed to greet her. Thank the gods for small mercies, at least they lived alone. Her search for a mirror ended quickly, the bathroom just down the hall, and it did contain a mirror. Unfortunately, it only confirmed her thoughts. Fan-fucking-tastic. Couldn’t it have been anyone else? Things were going to be _seriously_ awkward at the next progress meeting. She was meant to be going to the Shadow Lands at the end of the month though she could probably kiss good-bye to that!

In the mirror, staring back at her with a surprised and vaguely horrified look, was the face of Stannis Baratheon. 

“This has got to be some kind of joke.“ She said, still expecting her own voice. Higher, softer. Of course it wasn’t her voice. It was deeper, rougher and _definitely_ belonged to Stannis Baratheon and _not_ Sansa Stark. 

Her hands and back began to sweat while her feet stuck uncomfortably to the tiled floor. She stepped uneasily in place and tied the robe tighter around herself feeling discomforted to see such an uneasy expression on the face of Stannis Baratheon. 

Scowling? Yes. Tight smile? Yes. 

Unease, discomfort and worry? Never. 

Blinking hard and quickly, even slapping her face a few times to make sure that she was really _truly_ awake, changed nothing of what she saw in front of her. It was _definitely_ not a dream.

Leaning on the bathroom counter to get closer to the mirror she looked at the face she now wore, examining every frown line, stubbly hair and pore. It wasn’t bad, on any other day it would have even been nice to look at, but she liked her face much more and would prefer to ‘wear’ that one for the rest of her days.

Having confirmed the identity of the body she now inhabited left Sansa with few courses of action. 

One. She could get ready and head back to her place, hopefully, find her body and Stannis who would then tell her what the hell he had done to switch them. 

Two. She could get ready and _wait_ for Stannis to come to her. Assuming he would not do the same thing.

Three. Wait for this to wear off and once she was back in her body pretend it never happened.

Four….erm…hope for the best?

Sansa would not entertain the small whispering voice at the back of her mind telling her that _she did magic_ because that wasn’t what happened. She hadn’t — it wasn’t even the right spell! It was meant to connect her with her siblings and make them think of her, not switch bodies with Stannis Baratheon!

Sansa groaned wearily and stared into the dark blue eyes looking back at her in the mirror. It could have been some residual magic. Perhaps left over from the dragon ash she’d been examining yesterday. Or something Stannis had been looking into. Or maybe Rupert had managed to put something in her morning coffee. 

It was a ‘game’ she didn’t find particularly funny. Not when you’re breaking out in boils, speaking in limericks or clucking like a chicken at the most inopportune moment possible. It had probably cost her a promotion at some point. Body switching seemed a little out of his league though, and she didn’t think he had a death wish for pairing her up with Baratheon.

Stannis would know what it was. He had to.

Controlling the sales, multiple warehouses and safe disposal of magical items meant he came into contact with around four times as much as she did. He could have brushed up against something or spoken a passphrase. Even a glyph — though that meant he would have had to have been thinking of her quite strongly…

Her laugh was warm and full, startling her to look into the mirror to see the broad smile stretching across Stannis’ face. It was a surprising revelation. Stannis Baratheon had a great smile. And a good laugh. It made him look years younger, contrasting with the scowls and frowns that often aged him.

How old was he again? She’d have to find out.

Frown. Smile. Frown. Smile.

Hmm. His smile was…kind of hot. How had she not noticed? 

Sansa rolled her eyes. It was probably because of how professional he was all the time. Most of her colleagues spent at least a little time looking at her chest when they spoke to her. Sansa did her best to keep her head down and get on with her job - she loved it, and it kept her out of the ‘kill zone’. Anyone who sought to kiss ass, slack off or be an idiot in Stannis Baratheon’s presence would be subject to his razor sharp wit. There had been some ‘banter’ between them Sansa didn’t take it personally and gave as good as she got.

_I think we’re friends? As much as someone can be friends with Stannis Baratheon anyway. I mean, it could have been worse. I could have been switched with Frey from Records. Urgh._

Sansa eyed herself critically in the mirror.

If Stannis had brushed a Glyph and was thinking of her at the time, she doubted this was the result he would have wanted. Likely wishing to ‘do’ rather than ‘be’ her. It certainly would have been so for her if she knew he was hiding a body like this. If she had known, they might have…

Sansa snorted. 

_Yeah, like that would ever happen._

*****

Stannis’ shower had good water pressure and seemed to be enchanted to adjust temperature and strength automatically. She spotted the small runes carved into the shower head easily enough and made a mental note to ask Stannis about getting some for her bathroom. If he ever decided to speak to her again after this. She’d just have to make it up to him somehow. 

_On her knees in front of him, leaning in to—_

Sansa looked down at the erect penis between her legs and glared at it. _Stop it. I’m just washing — not touching!_

Well, she had been washing until it started to perk up. It twitched and Sansa huffed, annoyed. She had never really wondered what it was like to have a penis, because she knew she’d never have one, at least that’s what she’d thought _then_. Honestly, she was quite happy with her own Hoo-Hah, so this wasn’t the result of some strange late-blooming _wish magic,_ no matter what idiots like Freud theorised — he could go and fuck _himself_. 

_Sansa looked up at Stannis, eyes wide and cock in her—_

She was _not_ meant to be thinking about herself like that, with Stannis, while she was in Stannis’ _body_. It was just wrong.

_Maybe when I get back to my body we can—what? No!_

Gods! Was it just because she was in a man’s body now that every thought of hers had turned sexual? Perhaps she’d have to be more lenient with the guys at work if that was the case and _let_ them stare at her breasts. 

_What if Stannis put his hands on—_

Clearly, the erection wasn’t going to go away without ‘assistance’ and her thoughts were only serving to make everything worse. “Fine!” she growled. Sansa turned her back against the spray, pressed one hand against the glass wall of the shower, head bent and began to move her hand experimentally over the insistent member between her legs. 

“Ah—fuck!” 

She shouldn’t really be taking liberties with Stannis’ body, she was helping him really, and now she’d started she couldn’t stop. 

It felt great. No, bloody _amazing_. Twisting and squeezing, running her hand over the head and touching his balls…alternating the speed and grip made her muscles tense deliciously. Gods, no wonder guys never took their hands out of their pants if it felt _this_ good. The pleasure she felt was a lot more immediate, or at least a lot more intense than her own when she had the time to relax like this. Though that also depended on whether she’d ‘gone without’ for a while. Or how close her period was. If she had the time, just before or just after, she was always a little late to everything. 

Did Stannis do this often? Or did he have someone to _help_ him out? 

She’d had a little snoop around his house and could see no evidence of anyone living with him (or staying over) so hopefully, she wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes — or forced to ‘perform’ should they turn up before this little accident was sorted.

This really was quite nice though.

Tightening her grip, relaxing under the hot spray and catching on to what rhythm was making her pant, Sansa sped up, letting herself gasp and grunt and groan. She was so close, so _so_ close…

A strangled sound, not made by her, made her eyes shoot open.

Sansa gasped and slipped on the shower tray, landing hard on her arse, hand still around the cock and looking up at the angry face of…Sansa Stark. 

_Not Sansa Stark — that’s me, I’m just in Stannis’ body which means…_

Well, the scowl was definitely Stannis, and he was pissed ** _._**

“What. In all of Westeros. Do you think you’re **doing**?”He snarled.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think anyone was expecting that, right? ;)   
> I've decided this is going to be the 'smutty' version. Once it's done I'll get to the plot in the sequel. It's definitely an AU that has a lot of potential!


	3. The Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Couldn't hold this chapter hostage any longer - all mistakes are mine - hope you like it!

Sansa had never been so embarrassed in all her life. She hastily covered herself with the towel Stannis threw in her direction and stood, dripping on the bathmat as he stormed about his house _in her body_ , picking out a change of clothes and returning to offer them to Sansa with tight-lipped fury. 

“I wasn’t—It’s not what it looks like, Stannis, I—“ Sansa stopped and bit the inside of her cheek seeing Stannis’ angry eyes focused on her. Sansa grimaced. She could feel her arousal disappear as though it’d never been there in the first place. It was soon replaced by embarrassment — the emotion so strong in the air she could practically taste it. As for the _appendage_ that had caused all the problems in the first place, now covered by her towel, it had shrunk under the weight of Stannis’ stare and rested meekly between her legs. Sansa gripped the towel tighter, face paling as she hurried to explain. “Okay, so it was, I just thought I’d _sort myself out_ and then I could finish getting ready — I’m sorry, alright?”

“Sorry? **Sorry?”** Stannis growled and Sansa felt herself draw inwards, one hand holding up the towel at her waist and the other holding a change of clothes to her chest. 

 Sansa must have looked suitably miserable standing there, dripping water onto the mat and chewing on the inside of her cheek that Stannis spat, “Get dressed!” before he stormed from the room, slamming the door.

_Fuck._

*****

Sansa hurried after Stannis, surprised that even with much longer legs she was having trouble keeping up, and she needed to stay close so she could speak to him. He was in one of the worst moods she’d ever been witness to, though she supposed, it wasn’t without reason. 

She kept her voice low, just in case anyone passing happened to hear. “I said I was sorry, Stannis! What was I supposed to do, let you go about your day with a hard-on, knocking into things and jabbing people with it—“

Stannis whirled on the spot making her halt suddenly, arms waving like pinwheels to stop her from knocking them both to the ground. Sansa was having far more trouble with the controls than Stannis it seemed, though he could ease up on the stomping - she’d end up with holes in her shoes. Though that was probably the least of her worries as Stannis’ scowl on her face was quite terrifying.

“That is _my_ body and you have no right to touch it! You have older _and_ younger brothers, I thought you would have known a cold shower would have done the trick. Or you could have done the decent thing and waited _._ ” He seethed. “I have never felt so violated in all my life—“

_Waited? Waited for what? Was he suggesting he would have_ **_helped?_ **

“Like I was going to let you get Blue Balls.” Sansa scoffed, trying to act calmer than she felt. “Come on, don’t try and tell me you didn’t ‘have a go’ with mine?” 

Stannis’ silence said it all and Sansa felt a lead weight settle in her stomach. 

“You…you didn’t, did you?”

“I did not.” He said stiffly. “I don’t happen to ‘have a go’ without consent and as I did not have yours—“

“You can. If you like.”

_Fuck. What was she saying?_

“Do not try and assuage your guilt by allowing me to grope your body.”

_Shit. Well, she did feel guilty_ **_now_. **

“Well, it’s not like you’re ever going to get the chance to be in a woman’s body again, Stannis. I mean, aren’t you a little curious?”

It seemed her damage control was not quite working as she’d hoped; Stannis’ stern look didn’t move an inch. “I do not intend to be in this situation any longer than I have to. The fact is that while I may be a rather stern and seemingly unlikable man if I want to touch a woman’s body I will have no trouble finding a suitable partner. Now, let’s get this mess sorted out.”

“I’m not a mess,” Sansa grumbled, forced to keep up with Stannis’ quick pace and control her frown at the thought of him with other women. Putting aside her lack of magic _she_ was just as good as anyone else. If they were interested in one another like that. Which wasn’t quite true. They were friends. 

Thankfully they’d made it back to her house without any further incident and Stannis seemed to relax somewhat in the privacy of her house. It was filled with odds and ends she’d picked up from junk shops and curiosity cabinets over the years. Stannis cast her lounge a curious look, but rather than investigate various pieces he was straight down to business, striding back and forth in front of the sofa while she stood by the fireplace. 

Stannis started the ball rolling by recounting the week he’d had and firing questions at her as he tried to puzzle out just what had happened to them. There was no spell either of them could recall, that would have this effect and Stannis was thoroughly convinced it was some kind of malicious prank set to humiliate them both. Well, that was until she’d told him what _her week_ had been like. His eyes had darkened in anger and Sansa scrambled for the small Tully spell book which had fallen to the floor the night before and held it to her broad chest as though the thing could possibly protect her. The air seemed stifling and the hairs on her back and neck had stood up in alarm as she hurried back to her spot by the fireplace.

“Are you telling me,” Stannis began slowly, “that you decided to just cast a spell on a _whim_ …”

“N-no! Not a whim!“ Well, it had been a whim. A melancholy, hopeful little attempt at sparking some kind of magical response in herself and perhaps prompting her siblings to pick up the phone. And it had worked. Sort of. Maybe? She couldn’t be sure. “You have to understand that this isn’t the sort of thing I spend my Friday nights doing—”

“I should hope not!”

Sansa looked at him imploringly. “But it wasn’t me — I’ve never cast a single spell in my life.” He had a very strange look on his face at this point and she relaxed a tad, a self-depreciating smile slipping across her face, “Believe me, everyone watched me close enough that if I’d ever tried to lie about it I’d have been caught long before now.” 

Stannis was silent. Sansa waited for his response, becoming more and more worried as he remained still and quiet. 

“Stannis?” Sansa blinked. A wave of surprised understanding came over her. “Oh.” She said, “well, don’t worry about offending me. I’m actually rather flattered that you thought—huh…”

The expression on his face scrunched in hesitant confusion. “Sansa are you—“

“I’m a Mundie, Stannis. It’s nothing to be ashamed of — my skin is thicker than it looks I promise you.” She tried to give him a friendly smile, to reassure him that there were no hard feelings (and secretly hoping that he wouldn’t defy her expectations and start throwing slurs and—

Stannis scowled. “Your joke is in very poor taste I must say.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You. A Mundane? I’m disappointed you would believe I would be taken in by such a ridiculous lie.” He scoffed.

Sansa was stumped. “Lie? I’m not lying.”  

 “Then what do you call this!” he said gesturing to his— _her_ body. Stannis seemed to be waiting for her to laugh, and when she didn’t, looked as though he’d just witnessed her grow a second head.

Stung, Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something she’d regret. There was honestly no need to look so disgusted. She had quite a nice body and it was certainly enough to make people question whether her talent was Beauty. Why should Stannis Baratheon turn his nose up at her? She spoke through her teeth, aware that she rather looked like an angry bull with the way she was breathing through her nose. “An accident - but it certainly wasn’t me! Everyone knows I can’t do magic — never have been —“

Stannis remained silent, frowning at her and then understanding dawned. 

“You’re serious.” He said.

“I am.”

“And you believe it. _Truly?_ ”

_Now he was just being rude._

“I think I’d know if I was able to shoot lightning out of my fingertips or summon a dragon, Stannis!” She snapped.

Stannis sat on her sofa, slumped into the cushions in a way she could never recall seeing him sit before, though it looked graceless in her own body she surmised that it might have looked artfully relaxed in Stannis’ own. 

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked. 

“I felt the need to sit down before I fell down.” He said distantly.

Sansa felt panic rise in her. “Is it some delayed reaction to the spell?” Would she be incapacitated soon? Her heartbeat was a little fast but surely that was the panic…maybe she should look through the book. Had she missed something?

Stannis was gazing somewhere to her right with a look of disbelief. “I cannot believe that one of the most powerful Mages of this century believes herself to be a Mundane.” His eyes met hers. “Tell me again why you believe you have not cast a single spell in your life. Have you ever enchanted anything, brewed a potion?”

It felt as though Sansa had stepped through a portal to an alternate timeline. One where everything was wrong, yet hadn’t she dreamt something along these lines would happen to her? Hadn’t she wished to travel somewhere and be recognised that she wasn’t a Mundane — someone with worth and power and be able to match or even surpass her siblings…

“I tried. Spells were useless, nothing ever happened and potions just went wrong.”

Stannis’ eyes narrowed. “Went wrong how? Did they explode? Mix? Turn a different colour?”

Sansa shook her head remembering her frustration in her lessons with her mother. “They never exploded — they’d just turn into sludge and no matter how hard I tried…” her chest began to ache when she heard him laugh. A single, loud HA made her guts twist with shame. 

She was _over_ this. The ridicule and humiliation and she’d come to terms with being a Mundane. She might have dreamt that someone would come along and tell her she was special but that was just a fantasy and likely never to happen. Ever. Why would he—

“Sludge,” Stannis repeated. Then, slowly, a light entered his eyes and they practically _glowed_ with enthusiasm. She had never seen such a look on Stannis’ face and had she not been reeling from what he was about to say, she might have felt disappointed that she was not in her own body so she could observe the changes in his own face.  “You overpowered them. Had you _truly_ been a mundane with no magical talent to speak of the ingredients would have remained as separate components. To have _anything_ happen to the mixture, particularly should the mixture explode or form a thick substance — was it similar to treacle? Or cement? Yes? Well, that means you overwhelmed the components and saturated them with so much magic that they formed something new. AND, since they did not explode, you likely absorbed the magic expended just before combustion making the mixture unusable…”

“I—I…how do you know this?” She knew he would never lie to her, Stannis had always been far too serious and disdainful of practical jokes to hurt her this way. 

“I know it because I experienced the same thing with my own powers. Though not quite to the extent you are facing. I was seventeen when my magic surfaced and twenty-one when it was finally stable enough to cast spells. I spent years after that practising control so that I could perform the simplest tasks and such a powerful first spell speaks volumes of your capacity as a magical conduit.”

_Gods._

“I need to sit down. Now.”

Sansa threw herself onto the sofa, only missing sitting in Stannis’ lap by the quick shuffle to the side he performed. The floor took that opportunity to rock as though they were aboard a ship.

“Put your head between your legs,” Stannis said quickly, practically forcing her to do so while he pried the spell book from her white fingers as she breathed. “This has clearly come as a shock. Though I imagine a far more pleasant one than when you first woke up, hm?”

Sansa scoffed though immediately took a deep breath, attempting to hold off the urge to be sick, otherwise she might have replied just _how_ pleasant she’d found it. Stupid. For several minutes Sansa focused solely on breathing evenly and the warm presence of Stannis at her side. It’d been a long time since she’d had guests.

Eventually, Stannis spoke. There was now no longer anger in his voice, and his excitement had calmed into the usual scholarly interest he usually showed when presented with a particularly interesting problem at work. “I will likely be able to reverse the spell with only a little difficulty.” She had not paid much attention to Stannis’ own power. She knew he was strong, as the Baratheon’s magical line was particularly potent with a long list of mages and astonishing deeds, but he was never one to boast or use magic if he could do it just as quickly without. As she breathed and heard Stannis carefully turning the pages in the Tully Spell Book, she felt herself start to calm. Stannis’ magic had always been subtle and controlled when she’d seen him use it — checking through new artefacts or diagnosing the origins of a curse and it’s affects, he did it with such surety that it was hard to believe he had ever struggled with it before — and she’d had no idea he had been a late bloomer. Like her. 

_Gods. She had magic._

The thought almost made the room start spinning again but she shut her eyes tight and breathed in and out, in and out until slowly, she sat up. 

Beside her, Stannis was frowning. 

“Where is it?” he asked her. “I had thought that _all_ the spells would have been revealed since I am, for now, you. Though this does support the theory that our magical signature is linked to our soul rather than the body.” He passed the book to her. “Find the switching spell and I will perform the counter.”

Sansa looked from the book made from worn, warm leather, to Stannis. It felt full of possibility now, she could potentially perform any of the spells but…

“Switching spell?”

Stannis nodded. “Perhaps it is under another name? I could not see one I recognised, nor one that would have the effect produced. I had thought that switching spells were only capable of moving two objects between physical points, there were attempts to use the spells with living matter but the results were always…messy. I suppose I should not be surprised that there are versions and alterations that have been made and kept secret in family spell books such as this.” Stannis paused, “I am grateful you have allowed me to touch such an item, most would not have done so since family secrets are guarded jealously.” 

Sansa said nothing and turned to the book finding the page with ease and handed it to Stannis. 

“This is not a switching spell.” He said. “Unless it has been cloaked? Read it to me and we will go from there.”

He tried to hand it back, but Sansa refused it. “This _is_ the spell I cast.”

Stannis’ frown on her face was very strange indeed, and through that scowl, he managed to look like himself. He poured over the page and Sansa waited as he muttered under his breath and turned the page back and forth to read the incantation. However, it was a moment later that he paused and his fingers trailed along the edge of the page. He slid a nail along the edge and Sansa’s heart stopped.

The page, which _had_ slightly thicker than the rest, was not one page…but _two_. 

With careful slowness, Stannis eased them apart and Sansa waited with bated breath for his assessment, knowing already that she had royally fucked up. 


	4. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House Tully turn out to be not so dutiful and honourable and things get a little worse for poor Stannis.

“Three days!” Stannis yelled, stomping about her living room as though he cared not a whit to scuffing her wooden floors. Sansa was glad she’d ordered him to take his shoes off, having carefully inspected the soles of her nicest pair of flats with a frown noticing the scratches and scuffs on the soft leather. Now, in just his socks she might not have bothered to polish the floors a couple of days ago.

“It could be three hours.” She told him, hoping he’d at least settle down to wait with her. 

He’d been highly strung and snappish ever since Sansa had shown him the spell she’d cast. It was quite the change from his usual cold temper and harrowing glares. 

“Don’t be so obtuse, we’ve been like this for fourteen — and at least half of that I’ve been trying to reverse it! Only spirits know what you’ve done to me, you—“

“Do not finish that sentence,” Sansa warned. “I’ve already said I’m sorry. This is shit. I’m shit. But throwing your dummy out the pram isn’t going to help. In any case, I meant three hours from getting together.“ Sansa ignored his glare. “Now if you would just sit down and be patient, increasing proximity to one another should speed up the process a little.”

In truth Sansa was a little worried; as two pages had been stuck together she’d accidentally performed a spell that had elements of both and therefore made something entirely new — with no known way to reverse it. They’d theorised that the spell of ‘connection’ should wear off between three hours and three days. It had similarities to a switching spell which was often far more likely to succeed if the objects were close together. Unfortunately, simply being in the same room just didn’t seem to cut it. Sansa thought sitting beside one another was a step in the right direction and skin to skin contact would be best, but Stannis seemed reluctant to even hold hands with her. 

Sansa had not been brave to mention the romantic elements of the second spell. As the pages had been stuck together she hadn’t seen the description of the at all; it would have been fascinating if she was in her own body. And now she had magic…well. Something for the future perhaps?

The second spell had been designed to link suitable companions together in dreams. At first, Sansa had thought it quite romantic, the notes indicated that the spell would seek out a suitable match and briefly bring the two together the next time they slept. Upon closer inspection, and the not so subtle notes left in the margins, she realised it was actually a way for old lovers (or new) to meet. It seemed to be a safe way to relieve urges without the risk of pregnancy or being seen together should situation, sex or status separate them. Or if they were bonded to another…

A hundred years ago, either would have been ruinous and as this book had belonged to the Tullys, as _honourable_ and _dutiful_ as they were often made out to be, Sansa wondered just who had made it.

*****

“I think we’re in this for the long haul,” Sansa said later that night after they’d eaten dinner and watched a bit of telly. The inactivity seemed to chafe at Stannis, particularly since there had been no change whatsoever. She was still in his body, and he was still in hers. “I’m sorry, Stannis.”

Stannis sat tensely at her side with her hand held loosely in his own and grit his teeth. “We have been going off the assumption that you even cast the spell correctly.”

The longer they stayed in one another’s bodies the more likely it became, yet, Sansa still took offence. “Hey! There’s nothing wrong with _my_ casting!”

He turned to her, angry and snatched his hand away as though burnt, “There is!” he insisted. “Had you performed the spell correctly, even being a mixture of the two, this would not have happened — and it certainly would not have paired us up!”

Sansa drew back as though she’d been slapped, blinking quickly and feeling a stupid swell of hurt rise up in her chest. “There’s no need to be a dick about it Stannis, but as far as I’m concerned there is nothing wrong with my body — and I’ve certainly never had any complaints before.”

Stannis’ face shuttered. “I was not talking about _you_.” He grabbed her hand back and turned to look at the telly once more.

_Oh no, that is_ **_so_ ** _not the end of this conversation._

She yanked on his hand to get his attention. _“_ Just **what** do you mean by that?”

He glared at her. “It was a spell of _connection._ I am not so foolish to believe that you could truly find any interest in myself as a potential partner — hence you cast the spell incorrectly.”

“I did not!”

“So you would consider me as a partner.” He snapped as though she was tormenting him on purpose.

“ **Yes**.” Sansa did not hesitate, nor did she duck her head in embarrassment. Stannis was her friend, she respected him, thought him funny and he had a rather lovely physique. Sansa gave his body a rather pointed once over, and seriously, said, “I have no complaints.”

The sceptical look on his face didn’t bode well for their success in getting back into their own bodies, though for now, she would keep quiet, try to focus on the telly and not the way their hands fit so well together.

“We’ll have to call in sick if we’re still like this by tomorrow night. You are not going to work as me.” Stannis said.

Sansa hummed distractedly; he’s right, but she would have paid good money to see how Stannis would have handled the day in her shoes.

*****

On Monday, around seven in the morning, while Sansa was happily snuggled up in her duvet and relishing every moment she got to sleep in, she was rudely awoken by Stannis barging into her room. Hoping that he would go away if she burrowed under the covers further Sansa groaned when he leant over and shook her awake.

“Sansa! Wake up!” he gasped, “Sansa!” 

Groaning and pulling the duvet over her head she tried to fall back asleep; it was far too early for talking and if he wanted breakfast he could make it himself. 

“I left a message last night Stannis - they’re not expecting either of us in until next week — go back to bed please!” she was not in the mood for him this morning. He’d been increasingly irritable and downright rude yesterday and what little they’d talked he’d been snappish and quick to anger. Sansa had thought it was just their situation - of which she now felt she’d suffered more than enough for a foolish mistake - but apparently it was something more. 

“I’m dying!”

Sansa poked her head out of the covers to look at Stannis with bleary eyes. He was wearing the shorts and t-shirt she’d given to him as pyjamas though his red hair was a mess, he was sweating and shaking and one hand was curled around his middle. He looked far from well. 

“I feel sick and my _back_ —“ 

Sansa hauled herself into a sitting position with her best glare and pulled up the calendar on her phone. She had never taken Stannis as a man for dramatics but she had a hunch…a quick sum in her head and… _ah._

_Well, that explained quite a bit._

“Are you going to ring for the Maester?” Stannis asked. “Or will you drive me straight to the hospital?”

Well, she supposed this was some sort of payback for women everywhere, though why Stannis should deserve it she didn’t know. It should have been some bastard who was always telling women that childbirth was easy and that they should just get over their monthlies without complaint when they had them.

“No need. Let’s get you downstairs.” Sansa sighed. This wasn’t Stannis’ fault, and unfortunately, it seemed this month was going to be a bad one. At least she knew how to fix this. 

“What for?” Stannis gasped, hunching over, even more, gasping or muttering whenever a particularly sharp pain made itself known. “I see now you had this planned all along— the spell was a trick to keep yourself alive,” he gasped, “switching bodies so someone else would take the fall and you could swan off in my skin— _ow_!”

They barely made it to the bottom of the stairs. Stannis had bent double and shrugged off her hands to stagger to the sitting room — crawling onto the couch where he promptly curled into a ball. Sansa hurried through to the kitchen and rifled through the cabinet filled with potions and pills for all manner of magical mishaps. 

Making a quick round of toast with butter, Sansa put it on a tray along with a glass of orange juice, two pink pills and a large bar of chocolate.

“Do you have any pain?” He asked with a grimace when she put the tray on the coffee table. “Is this some…side-effect?”

_Best do it quick. But be calm. Don’t panic him too much. Gods I can’t even look him in the eye…_

“There is nothing wrong exactly,” Sansa said as she moved to the bathroom to fetch her emergency pads. “Unfortunately, this kind of pain happens fairly regularly. Have you started bleeding yet?” 

“No—no I don’t think so?” he looked horrified, his eyes flickering down to the blue box in her hand and back up to her face again and again. “Bleeding? Is that normal?” 

Sansa blinked. The pain must have addled his brain for Stannis not to figure it out on his own.

“Stannis, I want you to remain calm.” She said carefully. “Just know that this will only last for a few days and I will be with you the whole time to help.” Now she just had to tell him, and she _had_ to tell it to him straight. “It er…might come as a shock to you but erm…you’re…that is to say—ahem…”

_For fuck sake Sansa, just do it!_

“You’re on your ‘period’. Or at least my body is. I’m sorry, it seems I cast the spell at an even _more_ inopportune time.”

Stannis’ face twisted. “I’m—you mean… _am I_ ** _menstruating_** _?_ ”

“Yes.”

Sansa grimaced, knowing that as Stannis buried his face in a pillow and screamed, it was going to be a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had much time lately as I'm in the middle of two projects that have to be finished ASAP so I've had little time for writing and even less for reading :( BUT Once this stuff is finished you can be sure I'm going to catch up with all the lovely fics that have appeared/updated on the tag!


	5. Cry, cry and cry again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Stannis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope this helps you fight the January Blues!  
> No beta - all mistakes are mine!

Stannis struggled in vain to sleep. 

The pain was terrible. 

He’d _tried_ to straighten up and go about his day; scratching out plans, formulas, movements and spells he could adapt to help fix this situation. Stannis had looked for anything that might help speed up the reversal of Sansa’s curse - because that was what it was. A curse. But how could he focus when he felt sick and his back ached and it felt like his insides were going to drop out of his…of the… _from between his legs_ at any second? 

He’d popped two pink pills just half an hour ago but they had yet to have any effect. Were they truly the best option women had for pain relief? Sansa had told him that these were the pills that worked the best; anything stronger would send her to sleep for twelve hours and she couldn’t afford to do that when she had work, could she? 

The idea that Sansa came to _work_ while feeling like this had made him feel very uncomfortable. As far as he knew she’d only had one or two sick days in the last five years she’d worked in the department, _and_ she always wore a smile. It baffled him that she could be anything other than incapacitated when he felt so awful. 

He’d never known pain like it. Not even when Robert had broken his arm in three places, or the time he’d been bitten by pixies (whose venom was akin to being burnt), and not even being shocked by lightning when Renly had triggered the trap in Essos had been so awful as this. Stannis felt a level of empathy build inside him like no other man had ever experienced before. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Yet…he knew a few people who could stand to be educated on the subject. 

Stannis growled, frustrated as he adjusted himself and the ‘pad’ which was supposed to keep him dry and comfortable, yet did anything but! It was bulky and shifted about which meant he needed to adjust it constantly, added to the fact that he was ever conscious of…damn it! Stannis rolled out of bed and looked down at the small patch of blood where he had _leaked_ on the sheet. Even now as he stood he felt more seeping into the pad and even some down his leg!

_I need to change the sheets and get cleaned up._

Against his will, though he’d been trying his utmost all day to stop it, Stannis felt frustrated tears build in his eyes. Sansa had informed him that it was due to hormones — but this shouldn’t be happening — they weren’t even _his_ hormones! This wasn’t his body, his voice, and these certainly weren’t his tits! He didn’t even have tits! And at this rate, he would be happy to never want to see or touch another pair again because _Gods_ were they sore. The nipples were hot and painful to the touch and rubbed against his clothes in ways that both irritated and inflamed him, and that was perhaps the worst of it. He could deal with the pain (as terrible as it was), but arousal was a completely different matter altogether. 

When he adjusted himself the press of his fingers felt wonderful and even alleviated the pain a little when followed by a pulse of heat and wandering thoughts. Although tempted, he never let it get further than that, pulling his hands away and tucking them under his arms unless he was tempted to hold her breasts. 

Stannis swiped at the tears in his eyes and drew in a deep shuddering breath to calm down. It was humiliating and difficult and frustrating, but he could do this — and he could keep his hands to himself. He hoped Sansa was doing the same, but her control so far did not fill him with confidence. 

He had promised Sansa, and himself, that he wouldn’t touch her body, although she’d given him ‘permission’. He reminded himself it had only been given after she’d touched his own in the shower — and hadn’t that been strange! 

Strange to see himself masturbating in the shower, and stranger still to feel the pulse of heat between his—Sansa’s!— legs and her nipples tightening beneath her shirt (he’d forgone the bra, difficult, lacy, fiddly thing!) He’d been too angry, too embarrassed, _too_ _aroused_ at the thought of Sansa getting off in his body to do anything but shout at her and storm from the room. Stannis would never admit that it had probably been one of the most arousing things he’d ever seen in his life. The only thing that would have been better was if they had been in their own bodies in that shower, together. He would have held her against the shower wall, or had her on her knees or bent over beneath the spray so he would stand behind and—

Again, it was the hormones. Not once had he ever thought of Sansa Stark as anything other than a friend though he would acknowledge, even if only to himself, that she was quite clearly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. They worked together, ate lunch together and he often requested she joined him on trips simply because out of everyone he had ever worked with, was capable, reliable _and_ tolerable. 

How tolerable her company would be _after_ they returned to their own bodies would be for fate to decide. 

*****

Stannis stood in the shower allowing the hot water to pummel his back, doing far more than the pink pills to alleviate some of his pain. He was glad Sansa was not making a big fuss about it all. He’d arrived at her bedroom door (again) likely looking a sorry state and had asked for clean sheets and another set of pyjamas, explaining with difficulty, what the problem was. 

 _“It’s alright, Stannis. I can safely say I know how you feel.” She gave him an apologetic look and picked out some clean shorts, pants and a new pad and guided him to the bathroom. “Take a shower and then put these on. I’ll get to changing the bed_.” 

She had done her best with getting him things he needed and others he didn’t know he needed…and he had been _awful_ toward her. He was a _terrible_ person — _and now he was crying again!_

_Curse these hormones._

“Stannis?”

_Gods, she had heard him._

He tried to tell her that he was fine, but got a mouthful of water instead and began to choke. 

It must have sounded awful because the next thing he knew the door to the bathroom had opened and Sansa was coming in with fresh towels, something pink and a bottle of what he supposed was shampoo. 

Stannis jumped and covered himself as best as he could with his arms, positioning himself to the side as though to hide. It was a small mercy that he didn’t fall on his arse as Sansa had done in his body a few days ago,

“You alright there?” She huffed a laugh, looking sympathetic and talking softly like she was speaking to some frightened child. Stannis glared at her. For some reason, the sight of his body did _something_ to Sansa’s. Stannis scowled harder. 

“Need some help?” Sansa held up a bottle of shampoo and looked pointedly at the rat’s nest that was her hair. She had complained more than once that he should brush it properly but—

Taking his silence for acceptance Sansa had quickly stripped and stepped into the shower, holding the shampoo in one hand and some bright pink scrubbing gloves in the other.

“What are you doing — get out!” Stannis yelped, completely mortified. Why was this more embarrassing than waking up in her body?

Sansa grinned. “It’s alright, it’s not like you’ve got something I haven’t seen before — it’s my body after all.” Sansa put the pink gloves on the soap dish by the shower head and turned him so swiftly Stannis was surprised that he didn’t fall. He stood, building up some scathing retort that she should leave him to it when she squeezed a healthy amount of shampoo into her hand and began to rub it through his hair, her fingers scraping against his scalp. 

He allowed his eyes to close focusing on the way Sansa’s thumbs kneaded the back of his neck and fingers rubbed circles by his temples. The rush of hot water beat against his belly, soothing the ache there further. He couldn’t quite remember when he had felt so relaxed. Perhaps it was just because Sansa’s body was so much softer than his. She spoke to him, but above the rush of water and the way she washed his hair he couldn’t quite focus on her words; he hummed in answer, assuming that she had simply asked after his health. The pain was lesser now. Tolerable almost. When Sansa began washing out his hair she turned him around so his back was to the spray, which while nice, made him feel rather odd while he looked at his own body. Sansa wore a very focused look as she washed out the shampoo from his hair and Stannis felt her body start to tingle from more than just the heat of the water. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to focus on something other than how he wanted to touch himself—

Stannis jumped when he felt a hand slide from his hair to his neck the skin rougher than his own. The look in Sansa’s eyes was intense and his blue eyes had darkened — Stannis’ stomach swooped — Sansa _knew._

_Of course, she knows; it’s her body! Oh, Gods what is she doing…why is she stepping closer? The shower’s small but there’s plenty of room for us both without—_

Stannis bit down a gasp as Sansa moved her hand from his neck and trailed it softly, _tantalisingly,_ over his shoulder and gently down his arm, her thumb brushing the side of his breast.

An ache, different from the pain of cramps, started between his thighs. Sansa looked at him knowingly.

“I can make the pain go away,” Sansa said softly, her voice rough and low, “if you like.”

Stannis didn’t know what to say. 

“Close your eyes if it helps….and I’ll stop if you tell me to. I promise.” There was something certain in Sansa’s look that told him she didn’t think he would tell her to stop. The urge to let Sansa do whatever she liked to ease the ache, _both aches inside him_ , was overwhelming.

“Turn around,” Sansa said. So he did. 


	6. Bright Spots

Pink scrubbing gloves, which if he was honest looked quite ridiculous on his own large hands, moved with purpose across his back, arms and legs. The material felt nice, cleansing, and also saved Stannis having to touch Sansa’s body himself and therefore break his own rules. The sensation allowed for some distraction against the almost constant hum of pain in his lower back though this was not quite the pain relief Stannis had thought Sansa had implied, he wouldn’t complain. 

The pink monstrosities were dropped to the tray of the shower with a wet thwack, and then the bar of soap picked up again. 

Suddenly, Stannis became very aware that Sansa had not washed _everything_ and felt his sore nipples pucker at the thought of what she would do next. He almost leapt out of his skin when he felt her— _his_ —rough hands gently touch his upper arms. The extra soap softened his calluses, smoothing the way for Sansa to caress his arms. His back was offered a brief but firm massage that dipped into the knots in his shoulders and the ache at the base of his spine. It felt blissful and Stannis found himself having to bite back a groan. 

All too soon, Sansa moved her hands to rest gently on his waist. It felt quite…possessive, and he couldn’t help but imagine their positions reversed. Then, ever so slowly, he felt the hands begin to trail upward. 

Stannis swayed on his feet, planting his hands flat against the shower wall to stop himself from falling over, knees feeling impossibly weak as a new sensation, bolder and stronger, momentarily overtook the dull pain. He felt hot all over, shaky, uncertain, desperate and certainly in two minds on whether he truly wanted Sansa to touch his— _her_ —breasts. Because they _were_ there; hands splayed on his ribs and thumbs just gently stroking the underside of his breasts with such a light touch that it made his body tremble.

Stannis inhaled shakily, wishing he had something to hold onto. To ground himself. It was sheer bliss to have Sansa hold his breasts. They’d felt hot and achy all day and to have her large hands cup and gently lift them seemed to take a considerable weight off his shoulders which was ever so strange because they really should not weigh so much, surely? Stannis couldn’t stop the frankly pitiful whine that left his throat when her thumbs brushed across his nipples, back and forth, back and forth in soft repetitive motion until he began to squirm. Then she rolled his nipples softly between her thumb and forefingers. His breasts were cupped and toyed with in gentle maddening ways that made Stannis _want_. He wanted so much. Of what he doesn’t quite dare to name, but the aroused ache could now be said to be worse than the pain.

“ **Stop teasing** ” he bit out. Unable to keep still, though trying not to give in to temptation and grab Sansa’s hands to put them where he wanted them, which had become more and more difficult the longer she touched him. She had to know how what she was doing to him. How she made him feel. How he _wanted_ —

The hands paused and pulled away.

Stannis bit down on the ‘no!’ that wanted to burst free and waited with trembling, eager anticipation as Sansa picked up the soap once more and rubbed it vigorously between her hands. He swallowed thickly, looking down to watch as, slowly and gently, Sansa cupped his mound. The feeling of having something _there_ is almost too much, but the hands, covered in soap begin to gently wash the hair, combing through it with slow fingers that make Stannis wish she’d hurry up and finish or…finish _him_. Fingers teased at his folds, though Sansa assured him in a rough voice that she’s just helping him ‘wash up’ and he has to shut his eyes tight at the sight because it really will send him over the edge. 

Sansa’s body is a feast for the eyes, soft, perfectly proportioned and silvery stretch marks along her thighs only make her more beautiful. His toes curl as she washes him gently, a startling contrast to the way his thoughts often travel. Hard. Rough. Fast. With Sansa, the gentle touches are a sweet torture. For a moment, as he feels Sansa press against his back and his arse where he can feel his cock nudge firmly, it’s like he’s in two places at once. As though he’s both being touched, and yet he’s also the one _doing_ the touching. His hands are both pressed against the wall and pressed against the slick heat of Sansa’s cunt — and then he’s himself again! Painfully hard. Desperate to bury himself inside her and thrust until they’re both crying out in pleasure, release racing through them and—Stannis pulls away with a gasp. He’s himself. 

He’s **himself** again and yet, as he stumbles back, his vision flashes in a wild array of colours. Sensations and thoughts and the bright swell of desire well up inside him before crashing like a wave upon the land and whatever connection that had put him back in his body shatters. 

He looks over his shoulder at Sansa and finds with great disappointment that he is staring into his own dark eyes. 

The shower continues to pour down on them, the steam in the bathroom obscuring the rest of the room from view leaving only a few places in which he can look.

“Are you alright?” Her eyes are wide, surprised, cheeks flushed with more than heat from the shower.

Embarrassment floods him and Stannis shakes his head. “No.”

“Do you want to…“ There’s an excitement in her voice as she waves her hands between them. He had no doubt that if he had returned to his body, she had also been taken to hers. 

“No.” The thought of Sansa resuming what they’d been up to a moment ago fills him both with heat and an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He wants to go back to his body. Yet, stuck in Sansa’s which is begging to be touched, he can’t bring himself to carry on. It is imperative that they figure out just _how_ the switch had happened and why it had changed back suddenly before proceeding. “I can’t,” he says, “it’s too—we need time to assess what just happened.”

Stannis knows what he saw. How he felt. How he wanted her to—

“Right…I’ll let you finish up in peace,” Sansa says, she lingers for a long moment and Stannis wonders whether she’s hoping he’ll change his mind and ask her to stay but…he doesn’t. 

He shuts his eyes as he hears the bathroom door close, and though he gives in, his hands brushing softly over aching nipples and a throbbing clit, he feels sick at breaking his own promise and stops, unsatisfied. Stannis rinses with quick, efficient movements that leave him clean in no time and leaves the shower, preparing for bed with the clothes Sansa had left him, feeling even more frustrated than before.

*****

When Stannis returned his room, he finds Sansa sitting on his remade single bed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” She says to him softly. “But…I think I know how to solve our predicament. When I offered to help you…did you…because I saw something, and I wanted to ask—”

“I as well.” He says, annoyed at how his face heats as he remembers how desperate he had been. It’s duller now but the inclination to _fuck_ is there. Sansa’s body wants to be filled and possessed and relieved…

“I think the key to changing back might be closer contact.”

“Skin to skin.” Stannis agreed stiffly. It would be a test of will for sure.

For a moment Sansa was silent and almost seemed disappointed. Which couldn’t be the case, surely? He was not disappointed after all. 

No. 

He wasn’t. 

“It’s worth a try,” Sansa says. “The sooner we start the better, I imagine.” 

Both of them looked to the single bed. 

“As my bed is a double it’ll be easier there. We should get some sleep and hopefully, in the morning everything will be back to normal.”

*****

Unfortunately, their situation had not rectified itself in the morning. Or the next. Or the next. Instead, Stannis often woke to something poking him in the back, a large hand squeezing his breast and hot morning breath in his ear. Sansa’s body certainly had no complaints. At times he’d find himself turned around, leg thrown over her hip and centre pressed against his…and sometimes, after a movement or two in their sleep, a dream perhaps of things he kept a secret, he would find himself aching for something more. Sansa was a deep sleeper and often dreamt _vividly._ In comparison, Stannis was a much lighter sleeper though found there was something to be said for the proximity of another person. Sansa’s insistence on cuddling and being the ‘Big spoon’ was something he accepted with little protest, though his expression said otherwise, he found himself sleeping deeper and longer and woke rested and refreshed. He also found the answer to their predicament was now as painfully obvious as Sansa’s morning erection digging into his back. 

Stannis had hoped that another option would present itself, but as they settled into the fourth night sharing the same bed, and now that the terrible period had ended, Stannis was able to test the full skin to skin theory.

In the dark, where Sansa seemed to grow bolder, pulled him more snugly to herself and allowed her thumb to rub back and forth on his stomach.

“I think we should do it,” Sansa said softly behind him. 

Stannis wasn’t surprised but felt his face grow hot at the thought. “What?”

“Do IT, Stannis. You know, the sex.”

“The Sex?” his face twisted at the mutilation of language as Sansa laughed softly behind him. 

“Sorry, I know it’s annoying. I’ll stop. No fun, promise.” 

He tried to ignore the way Sansa’s cock was pressing against his arse and was entirely unsuccessful. His cock. Her arse. No—that was a dangerous topic. Particularly since Sansa seemed determined to keep bringing up the fact they were fast running out of options. “You know the longer we stay like this, the chances of us getting stuck like this increase and then—“

“Don’t you think I know that?” He twisted in her arms, hitching his hips away as he turned to face her. “Yet this is the best chance we have of getting out of this with our dignity intact.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Sansa, I’m sure you are aware, from your prolific collection of films that this sort of thing between friends rarely ends with the two remaining that way.”

“You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

“I simply do not wish to ruin something that…that is, I will admit very important to me. Real life is rarely like the films you are so fond of. Sex can ruin the most successful of friendships and I do not wish to lose you over something so trivial.”

“You mean bad sex. _Bad_ sex can ruin the most successful of friendships, but Stannis, I don’t intend on being bad. You’re in my body and as I know what I like, I can make it good for you, Stannis, promise.” The look in her eyes told him that she found it far more exciting than she should. Likely just as exciting as _he_ found it. “I’ve never had any complaints, though it’s never been quite like this.”

He was torn. The things she’d said to him over the last few days had been building up and he found himself believing that she could possibly, maybe, might quite like something more after everything was back to normal. 

“I won’t force you, Stannis.” She said softly. “I’d never. But I know you’re just as eager to get back to your body as I am mine, and I mean we are friends. We respect each other and understand one another and…would it really be so bad?” Stannis could tell she tried to keep the tremble from her voice but even if she had he could see the vulnerability shining clearly in her eyes. His eyes. 

“Go to sleep, Sansa. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter - I'm hoping to have the final two chapters done before May rolls around, if Sansa and Stannis haven't kicked it from all the sexual tension in this fic.


	7. My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all smut guys. My god. Do NOT read this at work.

Sansa sat at the end of her bed watching Stannis as he paced about her bedroom like a caged tiger. It might have been more intimidating if they were clothed, but as they were not, it made the sight rather entrancing. _I really do have rather nice breasts_ _— and they look great in my bras. I miss having boobs._ Her contemplation resulted in an interested twitch from the cock resting between her legs. She was far too tempted to reach down and stroke it, though since Stannis would likely have a heart attack, she refrained. She’d practically been at half-mast since the morning of the switch, and with Stannis in the house and little time to really explore his equipment without feeling unbearably guilty, she now had a list of fantasies to examine when they finally reversed the spell. 

They’d been over their situation a thousand times and there was truly no other option. The most obvious explanation would be to have sex. With a spell designed to allow a tryst, though altered, it stood to reason that it could only be broken by fulfilling the terms—which she found rather agreeable. She’d had quite a bit of time to think on what she was doing with her life, her job and her relationships (or lack thereof), and had come to the realisation that she wanted Stannis as a friend…and as a romantic partner. They’d talked about it. Which was why he was pacing in her room, muttering about stubborn women and sacrifices and changes and regrets.

Thankfully, Stannis’ chief concern was that having sex, even if the only purpose was to break the spell and change them back, would change their relationship irrevocably. It could be good. _More_ than what they had before. 

Just because they would be lovers didn’t mean they had to stop being friends! She just had to get him to see it that way too. _“I’m willing to take that risk, Stannis. Are you?”_ He’d given her a long look, but she had refused to be cowed. If he’d thought she would back down on her decision with a single look—

“Fine!” Stannis said suddenly, spinning to face her, arms crossed over his chest and looking as though he had just agreed to be burnt at the stake and not accepted a tumble that would end with an orgasm or two. Honestly, the man was so dramatic. Sansa managed to refrain from rolling her eyes however because… _finally!_  

“Come here and sit on my lap.” 

Stannis came to stand beside her legs, eyes fixed firmly on hers to make sure that he didn’t pay any attention to the _very_ interested twitches of her cock. He stood stiffly — as tense as a Septa at a Brothel.

She patted her leg again. “Turn around and sit down. If you face the mirror it might help if you can see my body instead of yours. Just in case you don’t find it arousing looking into your own—Oi! Watch my enamel!”

With great reluctance and effort not to grind his teeth to powder, turned and did as she asked, sitting stiffly across her lap, legs closed and back as straight as an arrow. He turned his head to the side and looked into the tall mirror attached to the wall across from them, waiting. Well, it wasn’t much but she could work with this. Sansa knew her body inside and out and though she had given Stannis permission she knew he hadn’t relieved her ‘tension’ since the switch. The closest he’d been was when they were in the shower together, and from the way he acted when asleep… _soft moans and wandering hands, flushed cheeks, thighs rubbing together and the obvious scent of arousal drifting from beneath the covers…_ it was clear her body was beyond frustrated. Stannis would certainly be in for one hell of a ‘ride’. Sansa bit down on her tongue to keep herself from laughing. 

Stannis wanted to get back to his own body, and had told her that he didn’t find performing _‘such an act’_ with her _‘displeasing’_ but he had made it very clear that he would rather be the ‘ _fucker_ ’ rather than the ‘ _fuckee_ ’ in the situation. Though he had not said it quite so simply. Stannis was far more eloquent than she was, particularly in tense or awkward situations where she had the tendency to make inappropriate jokes and laugh at the worst possible moment. 

_Well, I don’t want to scare him off. Or hurt his pride. Best start slowly._

As eager as she was to get her body back, _and relieve a tonne of sexual tension,_ she didn’t want to charge in all guns blazing and settle for a quickie. Besides Stannis might learn something he could later put to devastating use. On her, preferably. 

“Sit with your back to me.” She told him quietly and he did so without protest, sitting just shy of feeling her hardening dick against his back. Shame. She rested her hands on his waist and slowly stroked her thumbs along the ridges of his spine and felt him tense even further. He was going to get a cramp if he kept this up, perhaps she should have put on some music to distract him from the silence? She’d be touching him a whole lot more soon enough though she would try and ease him into it. 

Sansa looked into the tall mirror on the opposite wall and saw her dark eyes looking over Stannis’ shoulder, large hands gently rubbing his waist as she felt how stiffly he sat on her lap. It was a sight she never wanted to forget. Something straight out of her fantasies and she knew she couldn’t resist as her cock gave an enthusiastic twitch. She leant forward, and just like Stannis did in one of her more recent dreams, placed a lingering kiss against his neck. Her body smelled of her favourite soap, her skin so soft and her hair bright and shiny against her back she wanted to bury her face in it and just breathe it in. She kissed him again, and again until she felt him begin to loosen up, sweeping long red hair over his shoulder so she could kiss him just below his ear, excitement racing through her when she heard Stannis’ breath hitch as he shifted in her lap.

Stannis had wanted to put her hair up but Sansa had told him to leave it down, with the promise that she wouldn’t lean on it. She’d just pull it _gently_ when she fucked him. Or when they switched back she’d ask him to take her from behind, bury his hands in it and pull her back for a kiss as he fucked her. She’d be so full of him, tight, wet and hot, so ready to come around his cock—

Sansa groaned under her breath, realising she’d grabbed Stannis’ waist too tightly and forced him back to feel her cock, a bead of cum smeared against his lower back. He’d stiffened up again so she’d likely hurt or surprised him. Damn it. She had to be gentle! Stannis was practically a virgin now. 

 _He’s usually the ‘fucker’ remember?_  

She couldn’t be rough. Not yet. Even though her body would love it. Crave it.

“Sorry…got a little carried away.” Sansa apologised with a kiss to Stannis’ neck. “Tell me if there’s something you don’t like.” _Kiss_. “Or you want.” _Kiss_. “To stop.” _Kiss_. “And I’ll.” _Kiss_. “Stop…”

“AH!” Stannis cried out as Sansa sucked a hickey into his neck, one arm around his waist, the other creeping up his side to cup a breast as he trembled in her lap. Gods her body was _so ready._

Sansa pulled away to examine the bright red mark. 

 _That’s so hot,_ she thought as Stannis turned to glare at her over his shoulder. 

“Did you enjoy that, Stannis?” Sansa asked lowly and in Stannis’ body it came out as a low rumble, the type that would have soaked her knickers if they were back to normal…

“No” 

 _Yes._  

Sansa frowned. “Did you just say yes?”

“No.”

_Gods help me, I want her to do it again._

Sansa smiled at him slowly. “Shall I do it again?”

Stannis said nothing but the flush on his cheeks was plain enough. How very strange. It sounded like Stannis, but he hadn’t spoken aloud…never mind. She had work to do. Rather lovely work.

“Look in the mirror Stannis,” Sansa said and looked over his shoulder as she brought her hands up to trail the tips of her fingers over his belly and to his breasts. She cupped them in her hands, each fitting perfectly with hard pink nipples that she took great delight in rolling and pinching between her fingers. “Don’t we look good together?” She asked, “Don’t you want to do this to me when we switch back?” She could feel Stannis shift in her lap, the movement rubbing her cock against his back deliciously. With a harder pinch that made him gasp she switched to gentle strokes that were barely there at all. Trailing over his nipples, around the side and gently underneath, moaning breathily when he shifted again, the knowledge that these soft touches were getting to him was affecting her more than the strongest lust potion. “Doesn’t it feel good?” Such teasing would have driven her to distraction by now, either she would have demanded a firmer touch or done it herself. But it’d be so much better if Stannis did it. She’d want him to pinch her nipples and suck her neck, leaving a little trail of bruises and bites as one hand would reach down to touch her clit. He’d rub it softly and then firmly with increasing speed before he’d dip his long fingers into her wetness and toy with her opening, pressing one, then two fingers inside and seek out that soft spongy place inside her and _curl_ his fingers just so—

Stannis made a sound like a whimper, concealed by Sansa’s louder groan as she buried her face in his neck, closing her eyes against the rush of desire welling up inside her. Her hands had moved back to his hips which she was rocking softly against. A nip to his earlobe elicited a gasp and Sansa noticed how he trembled and rubbed his thighs together in her lap. Perfect.

“Open your legs for me…” Sansa murmured in his ear, watching his flushed face in the mirror. He seemed embarrassed at his loss of control and stilled again. “It’s alright, Stannis—“

“Is this really necessary?” His breathing was shaky as they locked eyes in the mirror and Stannis was desperately trying to keep a frown of disapproval in place. “Just stick it in and be done with it!” 

Sansa wasn’t going to have that. He was enjoying himself, there was really no need to be so uptight about it. 

“I hope that’s not your usual mode of operation, Baratheon,” Sansa growled, trying to make her voice extra rough. It probably sounded stupid but from the way Stannis swallowed, it might have worked a little bit. “I’ll have you know that I am very tempted to just _stick it in._ ” The thought of holding him down and just fucking him, breasts bouncing as he cried out appeared suddenly in her mind and she clenched her jaw around a moan, breathing through her nose like an angry bull. If she had less control this would have been over days ago. If Stannis didn’t have so much self-control perhaps she would have never needed to cast the spell at all! He’d have taken her in her office, bent her over her desk and fucked her from behind, a silencing ward on the door maybe…

”But I won’t do that.” Sansa said eventually after the silence had gone on too long, lost in her own lustful thoughts. 

It was strange that Stannis hadn’t commented on it though he likely knew all too well what she was going through. 

“Your cock isn’t small Stannis. It’s going to be a _tight_ fit and I need to get my body ready to take you.” Sansa smirked, “Besides, this is the fun bit…”

Sansa gave him another love bite, just below the first feeling a swell of possession in the act. There was something decidedly primal about marking your lover in such a way - especially knowing they enjoyed it, and she knew just how wet Stannis was getting from the way his thighs started to slip against each other when he shifted.

“Open up…” Sansa murmured against his ear, her hands at his thighs pulling them gently apart to hang loosely at either side of her knees. Sansa groaned again, the mirror revealing just how much Stannis had enjoyed their time together as arousal dampened the hairs at his mound. 

His thighs trembled as she trailed the tips of her fingertips up his thighs to her prize. “I hope you’re taking notes, Stannis.” She said as she teased the lips of his cunt with her fingers, “I’ll be delighted to see just what you’ve learnt…with _loud_ and _frequent_ feedback…”

*****

Stannis is flushed, embarrassed, desperate, filled with lust and he knows he’ll go mad if she doesn’t stop this soon. He doesn’t think she’s aware of their connection or how she’s been sending him images and fantasies to play in his thoughts. Yet she’s smart, so it’s only a matter of time before she works it out and then he’s doomed. The fantasies of him fucking her over her desk at work or taking her roughly on her bed almost undid him. Coupled with the way she brushed against his clit with feather light touches and teased his opening with the tips of her fingers, it’s been a trial not to come already, her body tense and primed and desperate for release. He knowns that through their connection she’s acting out fantasies and memories of how she likes to be touched, how she wants to be fucked — _how she wants him to fuck her_. 

It is torture, and Gods, he feels so empty. If this is how Sansa feels when she touches herself then it’s a wonder that she has time to do anything at all. Perhaps he’d fallen and hit his head and _died_ and this was all some elaborate afterlife designed to please or punish him. He can’t quite work out which. In his own body, there was an aching need to enter, to fuck, but this body wants to be filled and fucked and held down and he’s wet. SO wet he can feel arousal coating his thighs and Sansa’s hand as she touches him. The ache to be filled has built to an intolerable level and he shifted against the hard cock at his back, trying to goad Sansa into action. He’s never wanted a cock inside him before, never thought about it, never been a woman before, never thought that Sansa would want him as more than a friend and would say so baldly what she wanted him to do to her! 

He has to use every ounce of self-control not to buck up against Sansa’s firm fingers. It’s her body, her choice and he’ll let her set the pace. After this, he’ll show her the depth of his desire, and yes, he has been taking notes, because he plans to tease her the same way until she is a begging, trembling mess, so desperate for his cock he has to hold her down and—

Sansa curses in his ear and he feels a long finger tease his entrance before gently pressing in, and the sensation is odd, but exactly what he wants and no—no it’s not what he wants. He wants more. It’s not enough!

_Use another finger damn it!_

He hears Sansa laugh breathily in his ear as a second finger joins the first and he shifts against the stretch of two long fingers. They’re thicker than those of Sansa’s hands, likely why this feels so strange, so good, and now he can just imagine her in bed. Alone. Fingers buried deep inside her cunt and teasing herself, adding a third finger while her other hand presses desperately against her clit, seeking her pleasure. The climb toward release would be almost as delicious as the release she would give herself, back arched and toes curling into the bed sheets as her thighs quivered. And she would cry out loudly to the empty room—

It feels as though he’s burning up, the rush of blood is a loud roar in his ears and he can’t quite control himself as he twists in Sansa’s lap. His eyes are blurry and open to see the two of them in the mirror, a vision of desire with Sansa’s face is almost as red as his; her fingers buried deep inside him while the other plays with his clit and his own hands, without his permission, have moved to his breasts to pluck and twist and pull at his nipples. 

Her breasts. Her nipples. Not his. 

It’s difficult to keep everything straight in his head.

“Fuck Stannis, I want you to come for me!”

It was a position he’d never before considered but would surely be featured in every single fantasy he had from tonight onward. 

“I’m not going to stop.” Sansa breathes, “Not until you come, Stannis.”

_I don’t want you to stop. Never. Never stop._

Sansa groans as though she’s heard him. There’s something bright and wild shining through her eyes but before he can even begin to muster a reply, the fingers rubbing circles around his clit speed up and brush over the tortured bundle of nerves at a feverish pace from left to right and back again, over and over until the coil of desire winds tighter and tighter, pulling all his organs, all his bones, into a tight fiery fist and then when he thinks he cannot possibly endure any more…His vision whites out and he might have screamed, everything is a blur, and It seems he no longer has control over Sansa’s body as it trembles and sweats and twitches in the aftermath of the single most intense and pleasurable experience of his life. She keeps touching him as he comes down, his neck, his hair, his thighs, trailing her fingers along his slit which sends him shaking and shivering and twitching all over again while the fingers of her other hand are still buried deep inside him, keeping him comfortably filled. He’d been shocked at how fast the release had built, how desperate he’d been for it, and how empty he felt until Sansa had filled him with her fingers and pressed against his clit—

“S-stop.” Stannis gasped. His hips bucked into and then away from Sansa’s fingers which had begun to slowly trace circles on his clit again. A more sedate stroking, but after his release, he’s tender, too sensitive and her fingers on him only intensify the aftershocks. He cannot stand it, and so when she doesn’t stop, lightening the pressure even more which is somehow _worse_ he resorts to begging. “No more, please!”

_Please please, please_

“Do you really want me to stop, Stannis? Because I will, I promised.”

_No._

“I—“ 

I _don’t want you to stop._

 _“_ I don’t want—“

Sansa lets her finger press down a little harder, just a little, and he cries out into the room. 

“Say stop and I’ll stop, Stannis.”

He’s shaking, he doesn’t want to stop. 

“Don’t stop!”

“That’s what I thought.” She’s enjoying this too much. He can tell from the way her eyes have darkened with desire, the pupil blown wide until the dark blue of her eyes is almost entirely black. “Shhhh…” Sansa coos at him, kissing the marks she’d left on his neck and Stannis finds himself feeling that coiling tension again. She could have been a demon, a spirit of desire come to tempt him because it’s too soon. Too quick. Impossible that now, when she pulls her fingers from his cunt that he feels empty and desperately wants _something_ inside of him again. Her fingers leave his clit and for a terrible moment he thinks she’ll stop completely— but instead, she stands, an arm behind his back while the other sweeps beneath his legs to lay him down on her double bed. 

He cannot keep still and when Sansa settles between his spread legs, the limbs having moved of their own volition, controlled now by the needy ache in his belly that demands to be satisfied, he cannot find the words to ask her for what he wants. He hopes she understands anyway.

Sansa looms over him, her hands coming to rest either side of his head and she lets out a pained sound when he feels her cock press against his cunt.

“Gods, Stannis. Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now? How much I wish I was back in my body so you could fuck me instead? I feel like I’m on fire and your cock is just…” she thrusts and growls when her cock slides against Stannis’ dripping cunt, his own hips rising up to meet hers in a shaky rhythm as she brushes against his clit. He finds himself unable to describe the sensation. Every possible description is inadequate. 

“I’m going to fuck you now.” Sansa pants and Stannis finds himself nodding along, gritting his teeth around a desperate whine as Sansa sits back on her heels, one hand grips his hip and the other and takes hold of her cock. His cock. It’s as though he can feel her hand wrapped around him, and she strokes, once, twice, spreading the cum around the head with her thumb in a way that makes them both groan in unison.

“Do it.” He demands when she rubs the had along his slit. He cannot bear her teasing any longer. He needs his body back. Now.

Sansa presses forward, easing into his cunt slowly, gasping for air and her mouth open wide. Stannis knows what that feels like. He knows she wants to thrust forward, bask in the squeeze of a tight cunt and thrust and thrust and _fuck_ until the pleasure is too much, hips stuttering until she cannot hold herself up any longer and allows herself to sink into a blissful haze…

Being filled slowly satisfies some of Stannis’ ache, it doesn’t go away, just dims a little. He is fascinated by Sansa’s expression, the look of determination and control. It takes her a long minute to enter him fully, and by the end, she is gasping, sweat beading on her forehead and her arms tremble as she moves to rest on her forearms either side of his head. They’re so close now, an intimacy present that they’ve never had before. Now they’re joined and face to face, feeling the other’s breath against their cheeks and their desire linking them like a physical thing. Strange. But not unwelcome. It’s…more.

“Alright?” Sansa asks. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No. I’m fine.” He’s not hurt, but he is curious. What if he just…

“FUCK! STANNIS! AH!” Sansa’s hips buck hard, her hands fisting the bedsheets as Stannis experiments with the ‘grasp’ of Sansa’s body. “Don’t — I’ll cum too soon—shit—“ his jaw drops when he feels her move inside him. It feels nothing like her fingers. Better, fuller, so much _more_. His eyes slip closed as Sansa curses under her breath, and he can almost forget that they haven’t changed back. But he can’t. They’d barely touched one another in the shower and their vision had flickered, now she was _inside him_ and they were still stuck! What if they remained this way forever? What if…?

“Stannis please, please—“ the sound of Sansa begging forces him to open his eyes, “I need to move, Stannis. Please? Can I move? I need to—please—“

He looks at Sansa, and while he cannot see her face, because that is the one _he_ wears at the moment, Stannis imagines he can see her soul shining brightly behind blue eyes.

Would it really matter if they were stuck? If they were together?

_“Yes.”_

*****

It’s more than she ever could have imagined and Sansa wants to draw it out. Wants Stannis to feel how every inch of his cock fills her so perfectly that it might just persuade him to give _them_ a second thought. She can’t wait to get back to her body, to feel him properly, the way they were meant to be. To have him filling her over and over again, the sound of their skin and soft groans mixing together in the quiet room, so worth the risk that he’d want to be more than just friends by the end of it.

“We haven’t changed back.” Stannis gasped as she snapped her hips against his. 

“Don’t worry. It’ll happen.” It would. They wouldn’t be stuck like this forever. The spell would most likely wear off when she reached her peak and came inside him. But she wouldn’t if he kept bringing it up, she needed to focus!

“But—“

“Stannis!” Sansa growled. Clearly, she wasn’t doing a good job if he could still think and speak rationally. “The only kind of talk allowed during sex is dirty. And if it’s not dirty, then it’s not allowed.” She sat back on her heels and brought his legs up, pressing them back until his knees were against his shoulders and his cunt was spread wide. _Perfect_. Sansa began to fuck him steadily faster and harder, the way she liked it, the way her body wanted it, relishing the way he gasped as she bottomed out, the feeling of slick grasping walls around her cock was as amazing as the tension building in her balls.

“It’s been too long and—“

Sansa kissed him. Only to shut him up so he could just _enjoy it_ rather than lay there and dissect everything that was happening, but light burst behind her eyes and she felt like she was falling and flying and spinning all at once. She wrapped her arms around Stannis’ neck to ground herself and she realised, as she tried to follow Stannis’ lips and kiss him some more — _now is not the time to pull away_ — she was herself again.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Slim figure. Two lovely breasts and a cunt that is currently full of Stannis Baratheon’s cock. 

She looked up at his shocked face and couldn’t help but grin. It’s the most wonderful sight she’s ever seen and she couldn’t hold back a laugh as he realised they weren’t going to switch back again AND that the answer to their problem was a lot simpler than they’d ever thought it to be. 

 _True Love’s Kiss._ Most commonly used to break curses, Arya would be in fits if she knew. Sansa could hear her laughter now. 

_It was their first kiss too. Ha! They’d had sex before they’d kissed even once. So much for being a gentleman, Stannis._

A wave of guilt hits her so strong Sansa winces. Shit.

“Hey!” she grabs his arms as Stannis shifts as though to move away. He stills at her cry, and she can feel that he’s terrified he’s hurt her somehow, but then her hands are around his neck, pulling him down and her legs have shifted to lock about his waist “Don’t go,” she whispered, “Please!” 

He grunts when she clenches down on him, and while it tests his control, it doesn’t break it. “Sansa,” He chides. They’re so close she can feel his breath on her face. 

“Aren’t you going to put those notes you took into practice?” Sansa asks, suddenly fearful. She bites at her lip nervously. He can’t go _now_. 

“I…” Stannis can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her lips. 

Gods she wants him to kiss her. She wants him to talk to her, talk _dirty_ to her in that wonderful rough voice of his, knowing that it’s actually _him_ speaking to her.

He swallows thickly but his eyes are still dark and he’s still inside her. Still hard. “But we’re back to normal—“

“I am aware.” She replies huskily, gathering her courage to kiss him, hoping that it won’t send him running now that they’re in the right bodies. 

_Don’t you dare run out on me Baratheon—I was promised a thorough fucking!_

Stannis chokes and then she’s kissing him and she can feel everything.

 _Guilt. Desire. Disgust. Sadness. Indecision. Desire…_  

“I want you inside me,” Sansa tells him as he searches her face for any sign that she doesn’t _really_ want this now they’re back. But she does, and so she tells him in the most serious manner she can muster. “I want you to fuck me, Stannis. I want you to kiss me and bite me and pull my hair and bend me over every piece of furniture in my house. And then I want you to do it at your house. And then at work…only if you want to as well…“

_Gods I want to — I really want to I just—yes. Yes._

“Then by the Old Gods and the New!” Sansa burst out, tired of hearing his ridiculous thoughts and questioning whether he would be taking advantage, clenching down around him to spur him into doing _something_. “Stop thinking about it and fuck me, Baratheon!”

With a desperate groan, Stannis curls himself over her and claims her mouth in a bruising kiss and he begins to move slowly inside her. 

Fucking finally! 

The feeling is nothing short of bliss and she only keeps her eyes open through sheer will, focusing on Stannis’ face while his cock fills her over and over again, the pace slow and then steadily faster as the tension between them builds and builds…

“Harder Stannis, I won’t break. Let me feel you…Gods, I want you so much—“ Sansa cries as he pants, fucking her hard so his balls slap against her loudly. 

Sansa reaches out to grasp at his arm and the back of his neck, as though if she doesn’t hold onto him she’ll drift away. Stannis is solid. His muscles broad and back slick with sweat. Their release hurtles toward them like a train without breaks, and she needs this, needs to come desperately. Her head is pounding with each beat of Stannis’ hips, sweat dripping as she lifts her legs, knees moving to press back against her chest so she’s more open, so she can feel him _deeper harder_ , but Stannis pulls them back and with an easy strength lifts her legs to hang over his arms, spreading her wider as he fucks her, cock reaching every sensitive part with such unerring precision that Sansa grasps her breasts hard with one hand and reaches down with the other to rub frantically at her clit. “Stannis! Oh—oh! There—so close—so close, Stannis! Ah!”

Everything contracts and twists and shudders as she clamps down around Stannis’ cock, her limbs tensing and shivering as she spasms, gasping as pleasure races through her. And then he’s kissing her, silencing her cries with his eager mouth and letting her legs slip down to either side of his hips as he fucks her through her orgasm, even when she twists to get away from his thrusting cock as she becomes too sensitive, begging him that it’s too much and she needs a rest, he laughs.

“I thought you asked to see my notes.” He grins boyishly at her and it’s a look she’s never seen before. He looks so…happy. Not a twitch of the lips in a smile, or a crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the quiet, mature happiness she’s seen in him, but this makes him look years younger and Sansa realises she would do anything to see it again.

“I’ll be testing you—ah! B-better be thorough, Baratheon—FUCK”

Sansa thanks the Gods, Old and New when he doesn’t let up. He shortens his thrusts, still hard, but the tip of his cock seems to reach a place that makes her twitch and writhe anew and even though she’s already come once and she’s feeling far too sensitive for another. Then, as the telltale tightening in her belly builds ( _Too soon. Too good. I can’t_ ) she can feel magic in the air. Was it left over from the spell? There’s an air of finality to it. Sealing, almost like the warded boxes they’d received from Bravos…ah! It doesn’t matter — she wants him to come inside her—

Stannis hand reaches for her clit as he leans down to take her mouth in a kiss, nipping her lips and her jaw and her neck, kissing the hickeys on her neck and huffing when she turns her head to the side.

_Mark me!_

Let it be known that Stannis Baratheon took _great notes_.

Lust and desire flavour Stannis’ kisses while his hands channel possessiveness and protectiveness. She’s happy and sad and lonely and not all at the same time which is ever so _frustrating_ , and when he demands that she open her eyes and _look at him_ it’s like she’s caught in a trance. 

“I’m close.” He says and it seems he can feel everything too because he says her name like a prayer. “Sansa! Sansa…” It’s almost like they’re one person in two bodies. She can feel the clench of her walls around his cock and yet she can feel him inside her too. He wants her to kiss him. So she does. She keeps her eyes open, looking into those blue _blue_ eyes of his with a desperation that cannot entirely be hers. 

_I don’t want you to leave._

_I don’t want to go._

She wants to stay like this forever. Stannis fucking her, filling her, living together just the two of them. Work can wait.

“Come inside me, Stannis, please! I want to feel you—“

Sansa feels the exact moment he comes because it triggers her own release. This strange connection between them an open door to their emotions where every lust and desire is doubled making everything so much more intense. Her walls flutter around him as he buries his head in her neck and snarls, sucking another bruising kiss into her skin as his back hunches with each shivering thrust, the two of them moaning and gasping until he is spent and collapses heavily on top of Sansa's quivering body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you liked that. I wrote most of this in the last two days with a great burst of inspiration and a heavy dose of guilt (still working on my new years resolutions of finishing more things!) and it just got longer and longer...anyway I hope that the chapter was at least a little satisfying. All that build up and angst had to work out sometime! If there's any ridiculous mistakes that you can't stand let me know - I did edit but something's bound to slip through and I wanted to get this out after such a long wait. Honestly I'm the most impatient person when I've written something I can't keep hold of it for more than a day!


End file.
